


Follow the Leader

by Tenebrae_Erebus



Series: Follow the Leader - Superpower AU [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Superpowers, Telekinesis, Telepathy, more ships to come also, tags will change as the story develops, the attention that Marco DESERVED
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenebrae_Erebus/pseuds/Tenebrae_Erebus
Summary: Unexpectedly drawn into a world of superpowers and more secrets than he bargained for, Jean Kirstein finds companionship in the (surprisingly sweet) team leader of a group of superpowered teens, Marco Bott, resident telepath and empath. An unexpected newcomer to a team that has worked, trained, and lived together for most of their lives, Jean throws their lives off just as much as they have his at the decision of their commander, Erwin Smith.Turns out, telekinesis is a deeply coveted ability, and Erwin isn't the only one with a plan for him. Figuring out who he should trust isn't as clean cut as he thought it would be.
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Series: Follow the Leader - Superpower AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160168
Comments: 18
Kudos: 25





	1. Jinx

**Author's Note:**

> To keep this story Teen and Up, the eventual adult content (yes, you'll get smut eventually) will go into a companion fic full of one-shots and other scenes that aren't entirely plot relevant but give some context, spice, or just a little bit of fun to the story. When those scenes come around, I'll link them in the fic at their point of insert and you'll have the option to keep reading without it, or take a little detour.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car accident. Superpowered teenagers. More confusion than any one person needs in their life. What more is there to say?

Never in my life have I been more terrified than I am in the split second that I realize it is about to end.

I scream. I scream for an eternity bottled into a split second, muffled under the groan of metal and the shatter of glass, the sickening soundtrack of a semi-truck plowing headlong into the car in front of us. There is no doubt in my mind about what will come next.

Everything in the car is cast in sharp relief thanks to the truck’s glaring headlights. Long shadows are thrown over the dashboard, contorted into the mangled silhouette of the other car. I can see everything- my white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, the ditch and sheer rock face to my right, the drop off into the forest far below on my left, my own wide, terrified gaze in the rearview mirror, and in the passenger seat, Colette.

She’s fast asleep, and among every gut-stirring emotion I feel ( _terror, remorse, anger_ ) I find it in myself to be grateful that she isn’t awake for this. She looks at peace- blond eyelashes glowing gold on her cheeks, head resting beneath the rain splattered window. She had begged me to let her ride shotgun (“Jean I’m ten now! I haven’t had to use a booster seat in _two whole years_!”), and I had let her because nothing ever goes wrong. She usually sat behind me ( _I can hear my mother’s voice reminding us both that it’s the safest seat in the car oh fuck-_ ) but just this once I had caved, and look at where we are now. I try not to think of the fact that I might have just deprived my sister her shot at living through this ( _who am I kidding, a semi-truck is plowing towards us there’s no surviving that-_ ).

This is what they must mean when they say that your life flashes before your eyes. To understand everything in that split second before it ends, what seems like an infinite amount of time to think, reflect, make peace, repent, whatever it is you need to do… this is it.

So, I scream. I scream and I shut my eyes against the light ( _in some sick way I guess I am going towards it_ ) and I know that my sister and I are going to die here on a rainy night, crushed between a hard rock face and a semi. There is nothing left for me to do.

The car jolts and everything around me explodes. There’s a feeling of weightlessness, a splitting pain that blooms behind my eyes, the shriek of metal, the smell of burning something ( _it could be hair or it could be flesh oh god_ ) and there is no more light. I can feel myself fading out, my vision edged with black, but something isn’t right. I can still see the rain falling outside beyond the blown out window ( _blown out window how did that happen where’s all the glass-_ ). The truck is gone. I hear screaming. Rationally, I know it’s coming from my right, my name shrieked over and over and over again and the terrified sobs of a child ( _a dead one but dead children don’t cry-_ ) but it all sounds so distant.

I’m not screaming, but my mouth is moving. I’m not sure what comes out of it but I try to tell her that it’s going to be okay, to call someone, that it’s going to be okay, to get help.

I’m bewildered. I’m alive ( _but I’m dead I have to be dead_ ) but I am... tired. The black edging my vision is overwhelming. My eyelids are heavy and everything hurts and I succumb. To what, I don’t know, but I succumb and I pray that someone, anyone, comes so that the screaming can stop.

* * *

Say what you want about the rain, but in the middle of a forest? It smells _amazing._

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with cool morning air under a sky gray with the light of coming dawn. It’s a little colder than my liking, but that’s what I have a jacket for. For the scenery laid out in front of me, I’d happily stand in the cold and rain.

The winding road through the pass is surrounded by nothing but the pine trees that grow thick through the Cascade mountains and their foothills. It’s still mostly dark, but the gray light of early morning lets me see the silhouettes of the peaks that rise tall and proud around us. On this particular section of road, a blind turn finds itself between an unforgiving rock face that shoots straight up into more forest, and what looks like a 100-foot drop into the trees below. I peer over the edge to the wreckage of the semi-truck below and where the trees gave way to its falling might. Somewhere down there is a second car, but I can’t see it. I don’t really need to. No other survivors, they had said.

“Are they sure that this isn’t just a regular car accident with an extra lucky driver?” I call over my shoulder, eyes searching through the darkness. I scuff my shoes against the edge and some pebbles make the long fall down. The metal protection railing here is gone, destroyed by the force of a semi plowing (thrown?) through it. Road safety measures can only do so much apparently.

“They’ve never been wrong.” Comes the response. I turn around to face the wreckage of the car upside-down in the ditch tucked against the rock face. It’s an ugly scene; glass and metal is scattered across the road and tire marks are faintly visible in the low light. “The girl is ten- she’s the right age. You know what high stress can do.” Briefly, I feel the pulse of sadness, grief, then _rage_ , before it slips away, overtaken by focus and certainty. She’s always so in control. There’s no way that’s healthy. My lips twitch downward, but after all this time I know better than to say anything.

My footsteps are muffled against the wet road, accompanied by gentle rainfall and the crunch of glass underfoot as I come to stand on the edge of the ditch to look down into the wreckage. The windows are completely blown out, the doors wide open from where the two survivors were pulled from the wreckage, muddy water of the ditch covering the interior roof. It’s a sad sight.

 _They survived_. I remind myself. Maybe it’s not so sad a sight after all.

In the darkness, I almost miss Mikasa crouching in the car, critical eyes scanning the interior, fingers occasionally ghosting over the steering wheel or the seatbelt or the door handle.

I’m silent as I watch her work, eventually looking up to the brightening sky. Gently, I hum to myself as I fiddle with the zipper on my jacket, the rain splashing over my nose and into my hairline. The air is clean with the falling rain, but it’s marred by the faint remaining smell of gasoline and fire. It’s not often I get to just _be_ with a clear head and some quiet. I revel in the moment, allowing myself a minute of silent reprieve before turning my attention back to Mikasa,

“It’s so close to home- I don’t think we’ve ever gotten this lucky before.” I say. Mikasa doesn’t respond, but Sasha, who is sitting in the passenger seat of the tow truck parked a couple of yards from the wreckage, answers around a mouthful of _something_.

“Good thing too! It means we could get a head start.” My lips quirk into a smile at her response. I’ve always appreciated Sasha’s brightness and light-hearted nature. It’s refreshing considering everything else I see, and it makes this sort of work easier. She leans out of the shelter of the cab to look at me, one of her high-calorie bars sticking out of her mouth, another in hand ready to be unwrapped. “And it must be important if they brought us all out he-”

“Sasha, keep eating.” Mikasa interrupts briskly. “Levi won’t be happy if you crash because you were too busy running your mouth instead of stuffing it.” I can feel Sasha’s twinge of annoyance from where I’m standing, but it’s accompanied by understanding and begrudging agreement. Mikasa is right- Levi _won’t_ be happy if we come back and we poorly managed ourselves. Sasha’s silence speaks volumes, but her discontent still radiates as she pulls her head back into the cab of the car, unwrapping her next bar.

“Find anything useful?” I call down to Mikasa instead. It’s more of a formality so that Sasha can hear, but she responds out loud anyways.

“There’s no glass in the car.” Her verbal response is simple and short, but the rest of it follows. _No glass in the car, which means all of the glass was blown outwards_. Mikasa peers up at me from where she’s exiting the car, effortlessly vaulting up onto the ledge beside me with two well placed steps.

“So?” Comes Sasha from the car, leaning back out. The rain has darkened her hair, plastering a couple of strands to her forehead. She hates when we do this, but Mikasa isn’t too fond of speaking more than necessary. I cast her an apologetic look, and she smiles in understanding. It’s always fine with her.

 _No glass in the car means that all the glass was blown outward. There was a pulse here._ I clarify. Sasha makes a noise of understanding, a little “aaahhh” before hopping out of the cab, boots crunching over glass and gravel. She’s got another bar stuck in her mouth, still chewing and swallowing whatever remained of her previous one as she meanders over to stand beside us at the edge of the ditch.

“So, are we ready to clean this up?” She says around her present mouthful, looking down at the car with casual interest. She’s got the cords slung over her shoulder and she tilts her head as she takes in the wreckage. _It would be easiest going through the doors but they might break. I could-_

“Thread them around the chassis and the interior.” I suggest. “It’ll bear the weight fine.” Sasha hums a bright sound of agreement as she swallows her mouthful and salutes me with a quick “yes, sir!” before hopping down into the ditch. Mikasa’s face is impassive as she watches her work, her gaze turning to inspect her mud-caked boots. I wait for her to speak, giving her the time. I’ve been around long enough to know how much they hate it when I ask them what they’re about to say.

“I’m glad they’re both okay.” She finally says. _The girl and her brother. They both survived._ I smile at her gently, especially when I catch what follows. _She didn’t have to watch him die._

“No, she didn’t.” I agree, trying to judge the expression on her face. Mikasa has always been good at keeping herself under control, which I appreciate, but does make me a little bit more careful. “It’s because of her that she didn’t have to. About time we get a happy ending around here. I’m kind of tired of our moniker as the superpowered orphan team.” I laugh, and it actually echoes in the quiet air.

“You’re not an orphan,” she points out flatly. _Neither is Sasha_.

I purse my lips, returning my gaze to where Sasha is securing the cables on the car. Not in the sense that the others are, no, but in the end I might as well be. I know I’ve made a misstep, so I sigh, watching my breath billow out in front of me.

“No, I’m not,” I finally concede. The silence sits between Mikasa and I, filled only by the sound of rain, Sasha’s sloshing around in the ditch, and the birdcalls of the early morning.

My fingers are going stiff with the cold so I shove them into my pockets as Sasha tosses the ends of the cables up onto the road. I step on them to prevent them from sliding back down before she manages to ask and she jumps out of the ditch, landing light on her feet.

“Did you hit your target?” I ask, to which she nods, leaning down to grab the ends of the cables. I step off of them and away, following Mikasa to where she’s positioned leaning against the back of the tow truck.

“Stop _worrying_ \- this is nothing! You know how they like to cover all their bases.” Sasha waves her hands, dismissing me as she winds the two cables around her forearms. “Besides, town is literally like forty-five minutes away _and_ I have my emergency stash. I’m set.” She flashes me a smile. _Thanks for caring though._ I smile in response and settle next to Mikasa, sitting on the back edge of the truck. My pants are going to be wet, but I don’t really mind.

“Careful when you’re backing up-”

“Yeah, yeah, the ledge, I know.” She snorts. _I know this is your first lead on a mission but you don’t have to be such a micromanager._ I roll my eyes as she tests on the cables that run taught between her and the flipped car, giving them a few experimental tugs. Mikasa’s gaze is cast to an unknown spot on the horizon so I nudge her with my elbow.

“She’s about to start.” I say quietly. Her eyes come back into focus and she nods. There’s some gratitude there, and I smile a bit to myself. At least she’s not _mad_ at me. I look back over to Sasha, who’s staring into the ditch with a frown of concentration. Gripping the cables, she takes a deep breath, she drops her stance, leans back a little and takes a steady step backwards.

The car groans as it is pulled from where it settled into the mud, a torrent of water pouring from the interior as it’s pulled up the side of the ditch. Sasha furrows her brow as she steadily steps back, back, back, face tight, looking over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t getting too close to the ledge. The screech of the car roof scraping against concrete makes me wince, and Mikasa’s amusement isn’t lost on me. What I would do to be able to just turn it off like she does.

Sasha’s just a couple of feet from the bare ledge when she slackens her grip on the cables, the car rocking on its roof before settling on the road.

“See? Easy-peasy.” She’s _radiating_ self-satisfaction as she drops the cables, rotating her wrists experimentally, checking for any pain. Her flash of memories ( _the burn of muscles as she throws a thousand pounds but damn it she was hoping to make it another fifty feet, got to get that 5k time under three minutes-_ ) of the past few months of training make my heart swell. The past six months have been hard, but seeing real, _tangible_ progress has been worthwhile. As Sasha makes to unfasten the cables from the car, I look out into the forest and the lightening morning. This is what we’ve been waiting for all these years. It’s a _mission_ , after what seems like half a lifetime of training and education and more training, we’re finally getting to do _something_. Whatever nerves I came into this with last night are soothed as I take in the calm of the morning while Sasha returns the coil of cables to the truck. Gone without a hitch.

“You gonna finish the job?” I ask teasingly. Sasha casts me a look of confusion from where she’s standing on the passenger side of the truck. Quirking an eyebrow, I glance to the car, still very much upside down on the road, and back to her. With a little squeak, she jogs back to the car, disappearing around to the side. With a little grunt, it rises onto its side. With one more shove, it falls.

The tires hit the asphalt with the loud sound of metal on metal as the weight of the entire car comes down on the chassis. Mikasa grimaces next to me, a testament to exactly how acutely she feels the impact. The sound echoes through the hills, sending birds high into the sky in a flurry of noise and wings.

As Sasha rounds the front of the car to hook it to the back of the truck, I push away from where I’ve settled and move to stand on the ledge looking over the forest. If we do this right, not a soul will know what happened here beyond another tragic accident. It’s something about the anonymity of being so far away from so many people, about being one of the handful of people for miles and miles, that gives me the first taste of freedom I’ve experienced for a long time. For so many years it’s been such a tightly regimented schedule that I feel shaky in the moment, calling the shots, like I’m waiting for somebody to tell me that I’m doing it wrong. I turn back around to where the girls have successfully hooked the car up.

Sasha is standing on the roof of the car with a victorious grin, but she’s thinking the same I am. _We did it. Our first objective._

The thing is, I’ve seen her in training and action plenty of times. We’ve lived and trained and learned together for so many years, that I know it shouldn’t, but it blows my mind every time. Sasha is lean, has never been anything but, and she’s not tiny per se, but she doesn’t look like she should be able to put away 12,000 calories for a light mid-day snack and she _definitely_ doesn’t look like she should be able to throw a car down half a city block.

I don’t even know what someone who looks like they should be able to throw a car like that would look like. Reiner, maybe. That sounds about right.

“I think we’re done here.” I say, satisfied with our work. Casting one last glance over the surrounding scenery, I look to Mikasa expectantly and she nods her agreement. Sasha lets out a whoop and hops down from the car. She’s buzzing with energy, meeting me half way back to the truck, positively _giddy_.

“Look at you Marco, you’ve led your first mission!” Sasha chimes.

“It’s hardly leading a first mission Sash, we just-”

“Shut up and take your congratulations.” Sasha bumps her hip against mine and I’m sent staggering back a couple of steps. Her smile is sheepish, a silent apology for her overexcitement. Mikasa lets out a huff of laughter from where she’s waiting at the passenger door, standing on the lift as she watches us over the top of the truck. She’s covered in mud from her venture into the ditch, the rain having plastered her hair to her skin. Despite her impassive expression, her discomfort seeps from her like a pervasive itch.

On the surface, Sasha isn’t faring much better. She’s got mud all up her shins and up to her elbows, some splattered over her face and the front of her vest, but she’s chipper as ever. She’s looking at me expectantly. I’m supposed to be leading this mission. Right.

“Can you run up to Ymir and tell her that we’re ready to go? We’ll wait for you with Connie on the way back down.” I say, pulling the keys out of my pocket. Sasha snorts a laugh as she tosses her vest into the cab at Mikasa’s feet before rummaging through her bag. She comes back up with her harness and two pairs of goggles, starting the process of strapping herself in.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll beat us there.” She says. Every inch of her wide smile is playful as she tightens one of the straps over her chest and does a couple swings of her arms to test her mobility.

“You don’t need to hurry, this isn’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you down there slowpoke!” One pair of goggles hangs from a loop at her waist and she pulls the other down over her eyes. Pivoting on her heel, she bolts, racing up the asphalt to where Ymir is handling blocking the road a couple miles up. I can see her gaining speed with each step until she lunges into a blur that disappears behind a curve in the road.

She’ll definitely beat us down to Connie. Even carrying Ymir, she’ll probably beat us with time to spare.

I hop into the driver’s seat and start the engine, Mikasa having settled into the passenger seat soundlessly. Carefully I ease us around the bend, the sky light gray behind the cloud cover. I turn the radio on, setting the volume low, and she casts me a grateful smile, turning a sightless gaze to the blur of the forest as it passes us by. We’ve never spoken much, nor spent particularly much time together compared to others, but we share a wordless understanding and comfortable companionship marked by our shared appreciation of the rare moments of two very different types of silence.

 _Of all possible retrievals for our first mission, this is a pretty good one_. I offer. _Everybody’s alive, we’re early on the ground, close to base… it doesn’t get much easier than this._

“Don’t jinx it.” She responds with a quirk of her lips. She doesn’t look when she reaches forward to turn the radio volume completely down, and I’m slightly surprised by how talkative she is today. “We haven’t secured her yet. Survivors mean dealing with the family.” I think I feel a twinge of envy despite her matter-of-fact tone.

“I can’t jinx it- I didn’t say it out loud,” I say with a lighthearted smile. “I’m being optimistic. Besides, I’m glad that there’s people alive to deal with, even if it makes Erwin’s job harder.”

“You know it’s not just Erwin’s job anymore. It’s your job too.”

“I’m just there for backup to make it _easier_.” I counter with a shrug. “My job is to make sure they don’t freak out on us when they find out their child has super powers and we’re the ones trying to take them away.” It’s more than that. She doesn’t know that, but after the last conversation I had with Erwin, I know that it’s much, _much_ more than that.

“If they were so sure it would be easy, why do they have Eren on standby?” She asks, turning her head in my direction. I pause. A retrieval mission isn’t exactly suited to Eren’s skill set, I’ll admit, but more often than not, the why behind their decisions go over my head. Like everything over the past eight years, information comes to us on a need to know basis only.

“Maybe they’re just trying to get us all off base.” Mikasa and I both know that’s just not true. “Or it’s a field training exercise.” That sounds much more likely. “Going into Seattle, even if it is for a mission, has been a nice treat. They even let Connie go to the casino last night.” I cast her a knowing look before I remember that she can’t see it right now. Oops. The shift in the air is what tips her off to my moment of forgetfulness and her amusement is gentle and humored. “We’ve worked hard for this, Mikasa.”

That’s something I’m certain of. It’s been a long, brutal eight years. Fulfilling, yes, but absolutely _brutal_. The S Class classification came with its perks, but damn if they didn’t work us to the bone.

I get nothing but a hum in response, and with that I know she’s done with conversation for now. We spend the next couple of minutes in silence under the lightening sky before we reach Connie and the others.

Sasha obviously beat us back because Ymir is sitting on the trunk of the car smoking a cigarette, but Sasha herself is nowhere to be found. I ease to a stop next to where the car is pulled off to the side of the road and Mikasa wordlessly rolls her window down. Connie sticks his head out the driver side window, rocking some serious dark circles.

“We ready to go?” He asks, leaning forward to see me past Mikasa.

“Yeah- where’s Sasha?” The moment I ask, I know the answer because Connie grins and his eyes flicker to the back seat. I missed her at first, but Sasha’s passed out in the back seat, stripped down to just her undershirt. Yeah, easy-peasy. Right. With a fond roll of my eyes, I roll the window back up and inch forward to allow them their space to pull out. In the side mirror, I see Ymir hop down from the trunk, stomp out her cigarette and practically haul Connie out of the driver’s seat through the window. There’s some indignant squawking that happens, some flailing of limbs as Ymir shoves him around to the passenger side and slides in behind the wheel, but they’re right behind us as we make out of the winding roads of the pass.

For eight years we’ve trained tirelessly as individuals and as a team to handle pretty much anything the world can throw at us. Of course, the whole _powers_ thing made that easier, but it was the only reason we were here. _For your safety, for your family’s safety, and the safety of the public,_ Erwin had always reminded us. After some of the incidents we’ve had, and some of the things we’ve seen, I don’t doubt him. Yet after eight years, we’re still in the dark about who or what exactly is responsible when a team returns with mangled, half-dead members and more blood than I thought was possible.

(“They trust your judgement, Marco,” Erwin had said. He had stood by the window, gaze cast over the training yard where the A Classes were doing their rounds. “I’m having you take lead on this first mission. Don’t let them down _._ ”)

I tongue my cheek thoughtfully, lost in the rumble of the road beneath the tires and my own thoughts. Erwin always did have a way of spinning things. Not don’t let _him_ down, don’t let _them_ down.

It works. I _don’t_ want to let them down. I breathe a sigh through my nose and shake my head, like it would do anything to clear my thoughts. I don’t know if this first mission will be my most important, my least important, or neither. I _do_ know that right now, there’s a kid like all of us running around the Puget Sound area who’s probably very confused and very shaken up by the events that happened here last night. There will be time later to think about Erwin’s task for me, not now when I should be using this rare moment of quiet I have to actually _think_.

“You’re doing fine Marco,” Mikasa says. Her eyes are closed and she’s resting back against the seat, dark hair spilling messily over her face and shoulders. I genuinely thought that she had fallen asleep. “The pressure isn’t all on you. Erwin and Levi are still overseeing this mission.”

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be the mind reader.” I know my deflection was weak, and so does she, but she drops the subject. This is exactly why Mikasa and I got along- we knew when it was time to let it go. Despite myself, my shoulders relax and I turn my attention back to driving. The truth is, she’s right. Erwin and Levi haven’t truly left us to our own devices. I’m following orders, like I always have, but with a little more freedom and a little more distance.

 _You project your thoughts if you aren’t paying attention._ Mikasa informs helpfully. _Careful before you broadcast something that wasn’t meant for everybody_.

I can’t help the flush that rises to my cheeks at what she’s suggesting, but I file away her commentary for later. That’s good to know- something I need to work on. The two-way street thing definitely needs some help.

We actually do spend the rest of the drive in silence as I allow my mind to wander. Our team is strong. We’re loyal, we’re well trained, we work _well_ together. At this point, we can’t ask for much more. After eight years, our S Class pilot team is ready to hit the ground running.

I just hope that we’re as ready as we think we are.

* * *

I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Probably because that’s exactly what happened.

The first time I woke up was for less than a minute. It was like someone had personally taken a sledge hammer to every bone in my body and then dropped an anvil on my head a couple of times for good measure. The little bit that I tried to turn my head resulted in a noise that I _personally_ think was an excellent imitation of a wounded animal. There was commotion by my bedside, someone calling my name. More commotion. I fall back to black.

I don’t know how many times I come in and out of consciousness. One time, I wake up and see my mother’s face hovering over me, marred by tear tracks. She’s talking, but I can’t wrap my head around what she’s saying. Another time, a doctor examining me intently, their mahogany hair pulled back, peering at me from behind thick glasses. They say my name a couple times and I manage to grunt in response, but not much else. There’s more talking. ( _“... history of seizures?” “No, no never-”)_

I’m clearly in a hospital. The lights are so bright and everything is so white and this is most definitely not my bed but that’s all that I can manage to pull together.

_Where’s Colette? Is she okay?_

The thought is fleeting, just like my consciousness, just like all of my senses. None of it makes sense.

At least, until it does.

The first time I _really_ gain consciousness, I am acutely aware of how disgusting my mouth feels- like someone had stuffed it with cotton and sand and pissed in it ( _that’s nasty even for you Jean. Pat on the back_ ). My other senses catch up much more slowly. I still feel like I’ve been hit by a truck ( _because you were how are you still alive_ ), and a splitting headache blooms behind my eyes, forcing me to squeeze them shut against the little light that is in the room. The groaning noise I make is enough to get somebody’s attention though.

“Jean.” My mother. Of course, she’s here ( _where’s Colette why isn’t she with-_ ). A hand smooths my hair back from where it’s been plastered to my forehead with what I can only assume was sweat. I hear her settle next to the bed her tone low and urgent. “Jean, sweetie, can you hear me?” I answer with another pained groan, but try my best to open my eyes for her. I can feel the deep frown etched between my eyebrows, the weight of her worried gaze boring into me, and through the haze of my mind I manage to scrap together enough energy to speak.

“Wh’ happ’nd.” Is what I manage. It comes out slurred and garbled, barely a sentence but clear enough to understand. When I do manage to pry my eyes open, she looks just as worried as she sounds. I don’t expect how tired she looks.

Her hair, ash blond like mine, is swept back messily, the light from the window creating a halo of frizz that springs freely from her crown and the longer strands that have escaped her hair tie. There’s a weight to her: the way her shoulders sag, how her lips tug down at the corners, the droop to her eyes, like she’s physically being dragged down. I’m glad that she’s the first person I see.

“You got into an accident baby,” she says, tone hushed. “It was raining. You and Colette were coming back from your father’s. The truck-” a shuddering breath, “the truck lost control around the corner. Hit the car in front of you, hit you too but over corrected and…” another shuddering breath. She shakes her head, like she’s trying to rid herself of the thought about what could have happened, and offers a watery smile. “What matters is that you’re okay.” I can tell that she’s saying that just as much for herself as she is for me. I take a deep breath and my ribs creak in protest as they’re forced to expand.

“Colette?” I manage to ask after a moment. She knows what I’m asking, and I wait with bated breath for a response. I can already feel the tears welling in my eyes, bile preemptively rising in my throat as I wait for the tide of suffocating guilt to wash over me. You want to talk about never being able to forgive yourself? This might be it. This might be the thing that I’m never able to live down.

“Perfectly fine.” She says quickly. Warmth returns to her smile that’s finally reached her eyes. “They’re holding her for a little bit longer just to make sure, but she’s fine.” With that, everything in my body seems to relax. I slump against the sheets with a breath of relief and my eyes fall shut, my head falling back against the thin hospital pillow. Colette is alive. Good. That’s good. Fucking _fantastic_ actually. Relief is written over every inch of my body, and when the silence stretches on, she continues. “You’re not too bad off yourself. You broke your nose and a couple of ribs. The doctors said they would test you for a concussion when you woke up, but that’s it.” She finishes with a sniffle, and like that, the waterworks start. I want to tell her to stop, but for once, I think better of it. How many people walk away from an accident with a semi with their lives, let alone nothing but a couple of bumps and bruises?

I swallow and let the sounds of her soft crying next to me die out as she collects herself, eventually reduced to gentle puffs of her hitching breath. Now is the time to take inventory. I can wiggle my toes and my fingers just fine. Everything aches. There’s a dull pain in my chest with each breath that I take. Everything is muted, softened edges. Must be pain meds.

I don’t know when she called the doctor, but they come sweeping in, the same one that I saw in my earlier bout of lucidity. Brown hair pulled away from their face, thick glasses on their nose, a congenial smile on their face. The air in the room buzzes with energy in their presence. It’s a refreshing break from the somber, heavy atmosphere that sits between my mother and I. Makes me feel less like I’m on my death bed.

“Jean. Glad to see you’re awake.” They move fast, pulling a pen light from their breast pocket and flashing it into my eyes. It aggravates my splitting headache that’s almost definitely developing into a full-blown migraine and I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. “Well, the good news is your pupils are the same size- we might be able to save you a trip to the neurologist.” They jump right into and I’m suddenly a lot less grateful for the energy in the room. I want to rest. I want to see Colette. I want some space to _think_ , Christ almighty. “Now whenever you make it to the bathroom, I don’t want you to freak out- trauma will do that to your eyes sometimes, it’ll go away with time. I’m going to order some concussion tests in the meantime. If everything goes well, we’re just going to keep you for one more night and you should be good to be released tomorrow. Do you have any questions for me?” It all comes so fast, I can’t do anything besides blink slowly at them, trying to process the information dump. Possible concussion, another night in the hospital, I could live with that.

“Uhm-” I can’t even finish clearing my throat to speak.

“I’m Dr. Zoe.” They tack on. Their introduction is clearly an afterthought. They look up from where they’re pouring over my chart at the foot of the bed, eyes flitting across the pages. Oddly, I get the feeling that I’m also an afterthought. For just a moment, they pause to make eye contact, peering at me over the rim of their glasses with a soft quirk of their lips. “I’ll be your doctor for the rest of your stay here, but hopefully that won’t be too long.” They reach over to gently pat my ankle through the covers but it seems to be a disingenuous gesture of comfort.

“Uh.” Yeah Jean, you sound _so_ fucking smart. Fucking pull it together. I’m trying desperately to blink away this headache, even in the dim light filtering through the window from the overcast sky. “How… long have I been here?”

“Three days. You’ve been in and out of consciousness, but overall your injuries are minor. You’re very lucky, Jean.” The smile they give me this time is genuine, warm in contrast to the flighty, manic energy they brought into the room with them. Their attention breaks from me and turns to my mother, fixing her with a gentle, disarming smile. “I would like ask Jean some cursory questions before I order his tests. Now would be a great time to get some rest and check in on Colette.” I know a dismissal when I see one. My mom tenses, face tightening as she casts her gaze to me. I offer her a wan smile ( _It’s okay, I can handle it_ ), and she squeezes my hand before she stands. She says nothing as she slips from the room, door clicking shut behind her, and Dr. Zoe’s attention returns to me.

“How do you feel, Jean?” That’s a broad ass question. How do I feel? Relieved to be alive. Tired as hell. Achey. Like someone hit me with a truck ( _ha_ ).

“Like shit.” Is what I settle on. Dr. Zoe chuckles a bit, but the look they give me is expectant. No, of course my cheek wouldn’t fly. My voice is scratchy. I clear my throat. “Everything aches.”

“Any dizziness, blurry vision or headache?”

“Headache.” I respond immediately. “Right behind my eyes.” With a nod, they jot something down onto my chart. “Can I- uh, can I get some water?”

“Right there on your bedside.” They don’t even look up, but lo-and-behold, a pitcher and cup sit on the table next to my head. Briefly, my finger twitches, but I think better of it. With a groan, I ease myself upright into a sitting position, and whatever fuzziness I was feeling falls away. The ache in my body flares and I grit my teeth as I pick up the filled cup with shaky hands and bring it to my lips. Finally, freedom from that disgusting taste in my mouth. I gulp, the cool water soothing my parched throat and mouth. The noise I make isn’t the most dignified, but god does it feel good. Returning the paper cup to the nightstand, I return my gaze to the doctor.

“Jean,” they start again. “Do you have a history of seizures?” What? I start to shake my head but again, think better of it.

“No, never.”

“We believe that you were experiencing one when first-responders arrived on the scene.” They press their lips into a flat line. “For someone with no history of seizures, that brings some concern about the severity of your head injury. If you don’t mind, can you tell me a little bit about the accident?”

I pause, replaying the incident in my head. I’m certain of a couple things but others… either I hit my head harder than I thought or I’ve got to do some _serious_ reevaluation. I think Dr. Zoe takes my pause as confusion, so they pipe up again.

“I just want to see what your memory is like before you lost consciousness. Take your time.” Yeah, I absolutely intend to. I stare at my hands where they rest against the sheets and clench my fists. This story needs to be right if I want things to stay the way they are.

_Bright headlights. The car in front of us, crushed like a soda can. Something snaps like a rubber band. We’re upside down. Rain pouring outside of the blown-out window._

“We were driving through the pass back from our dad’s. It was raining pretty hard, but that wasn’t really the issue. The… the truck slid coming around the corner, I think. Took out the car in front of us. They hit us and… we ended up in the ditch? I think.” There’s something else, but I don’t say anything. Figuring that out loud be my one-way ticket to the psych ward.

When I look up, Dr. Zoe is nodding and their focus is entirely on their notes. A little crease has formed between their eyebrows, and when they look up with me, something is strange in their eyes.

“The truck and the other car ended up over the ledge. You and your sister are the sole survivors of the accident.” Their voice is soft but their eyes are not. I can’t quite put a finger on what it means or what it is when their eyes search mine. “I don’t know what happened, but you’re very, very lucky Jean.” They look back to their clipboard, like it has the answers that neither of us do, and with a flourish, drops it back into the holder at the foot of my bed. “We’ll be running some more in-depth tests today. Let’s hope that we can get you home by tomorrow, yeah?”

They make it to the door before I finally find my voice. “Dr. Zoe?” I call after them. They turn to look at me expectantly, head cocked. “Bathroom?”

“Right here. Bring your IV with you.” Gesturing to the little door on the left, they cast me one last indecipherable look before they leave and the door clicks behind them.

Sinking back into the hospital bed, I let out a long sigh and stare up at the ceiling tiles. The lights are off. At least somebody was thinking of my comfort. I snort to myself as I look around the room. They’ve brought a cot in, where my mom had probably been sleeping. There are flowers on the table next to the water pitcher and a couple of get well soon cards.

Sole survivors of a semi-truck accident. Lucky us.

I inhale deeply, my ribs once again groaning in protest, but despite every ache and pain in my body I pull my covers back and swing my legs over the side of the hospital bed. The linoleum floor is cold against my feet and I huff as I grip the IV pole where my drip and heart monitor are attached, forcing myself to stand. My knees scream in protest, my head spinning as I steady myself between the bed and IV pole before I make my way towards the bathroom with shuffling steps.

For someone who just survived a near-death experience, I don’t really want to dwell on it. I just want to pee, get something to eat, see my sister, and go back to sleep for as long as I can. I slip into the bathroom, fully intent on ticking off the first thing on that list. My train of thought is completely derailed when I flick on the light and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror.

I look like I just went three merciless rounds with a heavyweight prize fighter.

The first thing I notice are my eyes. Ringed with deep purple bruises, the whites are stained bright red with blood, not in the bloodshot way, but in the there-is-blood-in-the-whites-of-my-eyes-what-the-fuck way ( _“... I don’t want you to freak out- trauma will do that to your eyes sometimes.” Yeah but this is fucking horrifying_ ). My nose isn’t much better. It’s taped up ( _you broke your nose, I remember my mom had said_ ), but when I reach up to touch it, it flares with pain and I know the bruising under the bandages probably matches the two black eyes I’m sporting.

With a pause I realize that other than that, I look relatively… fine. A little banged up, but fine. I shift to peel back my hospital gown and examine the bruising on my ribs, pressing my fingers along the purpled flesh and hissing at the inevitable throb that I knew would come. Minor injuries, they had said. I wouldn’t exactly call the pain that I feel radiating from my ribs minor, but in the context of the incident it probably checks out.

My hair is a mess, ash blond sticking up from three days of being slept on and there’s just a little bit of stubble on my jaw. _Showering_ would be really nice right about now. I eye the stall in the corner before deciding against it. Not without a decent change of clothes. I’m acutely aware of how breezy this hospital gown is and in the cold of the hospital room and I’m not exactly a fan.

I take care of my business and make my way back to bed without incident. My muscles ache as I settle back into the sheets and my eyes flick to my bedside table. Among the cards, flowers, and water pitcher, the TV remote sits on the far side, just out of my reach. I look at the door cautiously before my eyes settle back on the remote. I crook my finger. The remote slides across the table onto the sheets next to me.

I guess everything that matters still works.

I can feel myself getting sleepy, the exertion of just being awake after three days more than enough to add some weight to my limbs and my heavy eyes, but I can’t stand the silence that echoes through the room. I’ve never been a fan of hospitals, not the way it’s either eerily silent or filled with the sound of a different brand of suffering and sickness. Turning my attention to the TV in the far corner of the room, despite my headache, I reach out. Just as a test.

I _feel_ it. Not quite in the way it feels to physically touch something, but close enough. It was weird at first, for a long time, like an extra appendage but it’s been long enough that I’m used to it now. Sitting in my bed, I probe the TV, the smooth outside edge, slipping back just behind it where I’m really hoping the buttons are-

Got it. The TV turns on with a burst of noise and color and I grimace, sliding down along the buttons that seem to be in the back for the down volume. The top is the power button, no, that’s channel change- _there_.

The remote sits uselessly at my side, more a cover than anything else, and the TV in the far corner of the room flickers with light and color and the low drone of voices, just quiet enough for me to fall asleep to. This will work for now, at least until I’m disturbed to eat or do more tests.

I sigh through my nose ( _ow_ ) and settle against the thin pillow, shutting my eyes. After that little mental exercise, my headache throbs in protest, but I’m not mad. Despite the possible head injury, I’m golden.

I think back to what Dr. Zoe said about how both the truck and the other car ended up over the ledge. For all intents and purposes, all three vehicles should have been plastered against the rock face. I mean _technically_ it could have been me, but I doubt it, not when the most I’ve ever done was move things like pens and TV remotes and the occasional piece of furniture. I can’t even remember doing it. I just remember the lights and the fear and something _loud_.

Grinding my teeth, I stubbornly refuse to think about it any longer. We got lucky. That was it. With that, I force myself into restless sleep, the drone of the TV in the background and more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outline for this has been sitting in my drafts since June 2018, and now that it's all coming to an end... I figured it was time to write it. Finally. If there are any more JeanMarco fans out there, it's nice to be back. It's been a long time, but I'm still hung up on these two, so I hope you are too.
> 
> Apologies for how action and dialogue driven this chapter was, but that's exposition for you. Any inconsistencies are intentional (specifically with regard to Mikasa), and I fully intend to flesh them out in the next few chapters of exposition. If you have any guesses about anything, drop them in the comments!
> 
> I hope the formatting isn't too confusing, and hopefully I'll see you back here in a week :)


	2. Misfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this slow, world-building chapter!

_**I don’t expect the beginning of the end to come in the form of amber eyes under a midnight moon. In a life like ours, to expect the unexpected is an unwritten rule- but I don’t think any of us could have expected this.** _

* * *

I would like to clarify that not all people read the same. For some people, like Eren, it’s like they’re shouting their thoughts and feelings across the room- I couldn’t ignore them if I tried. For others, like Mikasa, they exist quietly and I have to pay closer attention and do a little digging to get a read on them, like a conversation that you strain to hear just out of earshot. Plenty of other people’s thoughts and feelings exist at a conversational level, a layer of background noise to tune in and out of as I please, but are nevertheless there. Nobody really projects quite the same, much like no two people have the exact same presence in a room. Commander Erwin Smith, however, is like a brick wall. Not in a way that suggests he isn’t thinking or feeling (I’m acutely aware that there isn’t a moment where he isn’t thinking three steps ahead), but in a way that means nothing but the presence of an absolute iron will and inhuman self-control. In the eight years I’ve known him, never once have I seen it slip, no emotion or thought expressed that he didn’t fully intend, and each of the (admittedly few) times I’ve tried to dig further, has been met with a swift emotional rebuff. Unlike sitting in a car with Mikasa, where the silence is companionable and mutually appreciated, sitting in a car with Erwin makes me feel nothing other than wholly on edge. It takes a certain kind of person to oversee a program as delicate and classified as ours, someone impervious to talents like mine even under duress. As someone who apparently can’t even keep my thoughts, that I _accidentally broadcast_ , to myself, it’s both admirable and terrifying.

I do my best to sit still in the passenger seat, even though everything in me wants to fidget, but I resolve to keep my cool. I am on a retrieval mission with Erwin Smith. Act accordingly.

“Mikasa tells me that you did well.” He says, eyes not moving from the road. I look over from where I’ve been staring straight ahead at the highway in front of us, my posture so rigidly straight I can feel the tightness in my shoulders. I roll them to try and ease the tension that sits there.

“I just followed orders, sir.” His lips quirk up into a smile at my response, and his eyes flick over to me critically. Piercingly blue, the type to pin you in place and keep you there without so much as a word, like he’s done to each of us so many times. I’d take that over what comes next any day.

“You can give yourself some credit. Ymir isn’t the easiest to work with and Sasha can get overzealous.” Whatever there is to be said about Erwin, he knows us well. I think back to how Sasha nearly forgot to turn the car over, how Ymir had griped about being sent to sit in the cold and wait for _nobody_ to come through the pass at 4 in the morning. With an intentional huff of laughter, I turn my eyes back to the expanse of overcast gray sky the same color as the road.

“They weren’t so bad,” I offer. “Nothing that I didn’t already expect, at least.” That much is true. As well as Erwin knows the team, I know them, or rather, we know each other, _much_ better. It comes with the territory of growing up together- it’s hard to be anything less than intimately acquainted when everybody’s firsts are with your best friend or your best friend’s best friend. There are eight of us- and when you spend virtually _all_ of your time together, there’s not much room for secrets. _Especially_ when you can read minds.

“She also tells me that you’re having some trouble keeping your thoughts to yourself.” There’s the other shoe. I should have seen it coming. My smile is a bit sheepish and I refuse to look at him, instead fixated on the blur of trees outside the window as we take an exit, the car slowing as we roll to a stop at the light.

“I got lost in thought on the drive back,” I admit, knowing better than to lie to him. “I was thinking about the mission. I wasn’t paying attention and it spilled over.” Erwin hums in response, a quiet, thoughtful sound as he turns onto a smaller street, turning to scan the addresses of the houses as the car rolls slowly past. He’s not paying me any mind, at least right now, so I wait in silence as he parks in the driveway in front of one, a gray two story with a well-kept garden. I unfasten my seat belt, but when Erwin makes no further moves to get out of the car. I pause, waiting for his direction.

“You’re nineteen, Marco,” he says slowly. He still doesn’t look at me, clearly inspecting the house with a critical eye. From anybody else, it would have sounded reassuring, a promise that it was okay, that I was still young, that I had time to learn. From Erwin, it’s little more than a statement of fact, an observation that sits in the air between us while I wait for him to do something with it. “When it’s time for you to lead this team, you need to be able to keep it under control. Information can’t move freely.” We had this conversation just before we left base, but I still shrink a bit in my seat. I know that it’s a work in progress- Hange had said that I’d been doing well considering recent developments- but Erwin’s scrutiny is still unpleasant.

“Yes, sir.” I manage, dipping my head. Hopefully what we’re about to do will make up for it, even though I _know_ that it isn’t as severe as Erwin is making it feel. There’s a beat of silence before Erwin finally unbuckles his seatbelt, grabbing the keys out of the center console and pocketing them.

“Hange’s report on Colette is inconclusive,” he starts, like nothing had happened. “I’ll interview her myself. Speak with her brother, see if you can come up with any details.” With that, he opens the car door and I hastily follow suit.

As expected, the weather is mild, but still with enough bite to cut through the thin button up I’m wearing. I look around the neighborhood as Erwin rings the doorbell and waits, taking in the new cars, well maintained lawns and quiet atmosphere. It’s unfamiliar to me in every aspect, but I can still acknowledge that to leave this life for the one we live won’t be the easiest thing. For some of us, what we have now is preferable to what we left behind, and while I don’t know anything about what this girl’s life is like beyond the veneer that this quiet, comfortable neighborhood presents, it sounds like she has a family that loves her. I shudder in the cold and at the thought- I don’t like being the person to bring that to an end.

I turn around when the front door opens behind me.

“Can I help you?” The boy asks. I can feel his weariness, the ache of sore muscles and a bite of apprehension to boot. He looks Erwin over with sharp, critical eyes before his gaze turns to me.

It’s like being shoved into the deep end of a pool- everything I was just getting from him is amplified. His neck hurts, he just woke up not too long ago, he’s groggy, he’s tired of all these people coming by the house- _oh_.

Well that’s flattering. I shift my weight a bit, trying to force down the color that’s rising in my cheeks, though I can’t do much to help the way the tips of my ears heat up. Eye contact has always amplified my read on people, but this was definitely one of my more dramatic experiences. Erwin clears his throat.

“Are you Jean Kirstein?” He asks. He breaks eye contact to look at Erwin, and I pull myself together enough to get a good look at him. He definitely _looks_ like he’s been in a car accident- there’s bruising under his eyes, along his sharply slanted jaw and angular cheekbones, a splotchy display of purple, yellow and green. I can really only describe his face as _sharp_ , his bone structure accompanied by the straight line of his nose and piercing amber eyes. His ash blond undercut is slightly overgrown, but I only notice because he’s self-conscious about it and it draws my attention. Tall, still a little shorter than me. Lean, but not skinny- he’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt but I can see the strength in his shoulders as he shifts his weight and the way his forearms tighten where they’re crossed over his chest. He’s good looking, undoubtedly, even five days out of what should have been a life-ending accident.

Of course, this is who I have to keep busy while Erwin talks to Colette. Just my luck. Something about being part of a superpowered team of minors with limited access to the public- you don’t really get to meet or talk to anybody that isn’t one of other said superpower minors. I feel thrown off balance- hyperaware of how I look, shifting my weight uncomfortably. So, this is what a crush is supposed to feel like.

“I am.” He’s not very forthcoming, but he reads like an open book. There’s apprehension and annoyance that give way to underlying embarrassment.

_I just can’t catch a fucking break._

I suppress the humored smile that fights to rise and instead offer something softer, kinder, more disarming. Decidedly, I like him, but I can’t dwell on it. What we need right now is information- and I don’t plan on making this harder than it has to be.

“My name is Erwin, this is my colleague, Marco.” I almost snort when he uses the word colleague to describe me, but give a small wave nonetheless. “We’re here to collect an official report on your accident a couple of days ago. May we come in?” Erwin’s tone is mild, but I know the rush of power and sharpness that underlies his words. Jean really doesn’t have a choice, and whether he knows it or not, he can feel it.

He frowns as he pushes off from where he’s leaning against the doorframe and wordlessly steps aside to let us in. I follow tight to Erwin’s shoulder as he closes the door behind us. It’s a nice house- well furnished and immaculately cared for, pictures of a smiling little girl, a slightly disgruntled looking Jean, and an older woman who I assume is their mother, decorating the walls.

 _Find what you need._ Erwin’s eyes don’t change from the polite observational gaze of the foyer, but I know what he means. Jean returns from the hallway, the woman in the photos in tow, and she offers a weary smile.

“How can I help you gentlemen today?” She asks, not unkindly. She wants this to be over with already- an end to all the questions, to be done with the doctors, a return to normalcy that I know she’s never going to get. This part of the job… sucks.

“Mrs. Kirstein-”

“ _Ms._ Kirstein.” She corrects. It’s reflexive, and the bite to it is still there even though she doesn’t mean for it to be. Rough divorce. Kept the name for professional reasons. Tough.

“ _Ms._ Kirstein.” Erwin parrots, casting her a charming, apologetic smile. “We would like to speak with Jean and Colette to collect an official incident report. We know that a report was collected at the hospital, but we’d like another one just in case either of your children remember anything else. There’s been quite a fuss kicked up about traffic safety because of this, if you can believe it- they’d like us to be as thorough as possible.” Erwin lies so easily it’s almost scary. If I didn’t know the truth, I wouldn’t be able to tell.

I let the adults talk, and turn my attention to Jean, who’s standing back looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. When he meets my gaze, I’m hit with another surge of thought and feeling- _replaying the crash, oh no he’s cute_. I offer a small, warm smile and he immediately averts his gaze, color rising in his cheeks. It really is a shame I won’t get to see him again.

Erwin’s conversation has finished, and he’s followed their mother into the other room where I’m assuming Colette, the little girl is.

“I know you’re probably tired of people asking you to retell this story so many times.” I start, fixing him with another soft smile. “Is there somewhere we can sit?” I’m not quite sure what I did that flusters him, but he does a wordless about face and walks into the other room, where I follow him. From here I can see to the dining room where Erwin is seated, his back to me, and across from him a little girl, ash blond like her mother, who sits beside her, and her brother. My eyes flick to Jean and back to her- they have the same critical amber eyes. She’s doing a better job sitting and talking to Erwin than I just did, that’s for sure. Jean clears his throat and gestures for me to sit on the opposite end of the couch, and I follow his lead.

“Do you want to start from the beginning?” I ask, digging the notepad out of my back pocket. That triggers a flurry of thought, and I do my best to sift through them as I pretend to look for the pen I’m very aware is tucked behind my ear. I’m looking for something to anchor on to, something- oh that’ll work.

There’s a moment that flickers through his mind, filled with the bright headlights of the oncoming semi-truck and the flood of emotions that come with it. Hanging onto that, I make a little sound of pleasure as I “find” the pen behind my ear. His gaze flicks between my pen, ready in my hand, and my face, and with a deep breath, he starts. Passively, I realize that I like the way he talks. There’s a certainty to it, a conviction that doesn’t betray the hesitance that runs rampant in his head. When he looks up, we lock eyes, and the floodgates open again.

The thing about getting into people’s heads is that you have to prepare yourself for what comes with it and what you might find. It’s not always a _good_ place to be. The cliché that eyes are the window to the soul, in my case at least, is painfully true. You get hit with everything that’s going on in there, even some of the things that they don’t pick up- frustrations, happiness, sadness, pride, disgust, they all exist to some degree, you just don’t know how _much_.

What strikes me first is how up front everything is- it’s all just laid out. There’s not something lurking that I need to watch out for, nothing he’s shoved into a box in some deep, dark corner of his mind and tried not to think about. It’s just him, his thought, his memories, and his feelings. It’s refreshing.

Except I have a job to do. I can’t bask in this feeling for too long, so I shuffle through what’s available to me.

_Fear. Accident. Pain. Fear. Colette. Confusion. Freckles. Confusion. Doubt. Doubt. Doubt._

Freckles? I can feel my ears getting hot again. I know I shouldn’t be getting this distracted but… he’s cute. _Really_ cute. Even with his busted face. And he’s thinking about my freckles, that I am now _very_ aware of, while I’m preparing to dig through his thoughts and memories to try and figure out what type of powers his little sister has. The more I think about it, the weirder it gets. I need to get back to work.

( _He thinks my freckles are cute… nice.)_

Jean is talking and I’m not listening to a single word he says.

Instead, I chase the line of thought into his memories, doing my best not to be _too_ disruptive. I’m still clumsy ( _Hange’s voice reminds me that it’s only been eight months_ ), but he doesn’t falter in his storytelling. I see the incoming semi-truck, the brightness of the light, and the rain falling on the road. Something’s exploded. Confusion.

That seems right. I fixate on Colette, and his image of her sitting in the passenger asleep. Coming back from their dad’s, how excited she is for her recital, a sense of pride at the way she smarts at people, just like he does. This doesn’t make sense. She was _asleep_ when the accident happened. Unless her body automatically reacted to being in danger while she was unconscious but I’ve never heard of anything like that- _oh_.

It’s a fleeting thought on his part, not even enough to cause a hitch in his storytelling, but I latch onto it and chase it. _Had to have been me_.

I see the hospital room. Hange’s giving him the run down on what happened. They leave, he puzzles.

The TV remote slides across the bedside table.

_Oh fuck._

Even though Erwin doesn’t so much as twitch, I know he hears me.

 _It’s not her_. He expresses simply. We had come to the conclusions separately, but they’re no less jarring. We’ve been sitting here for all of two minutes, and already our whole plan has been turned inside out.

Jean is looking at me expectantly, and I realize that he’s finished his story. He _looks_ normal, but I guess we all do- regardless I can’t understand how he made it this long without _somebody_ knowing. Things like this don’t stay quiet for long, but I’m out of time- his story is finished, my time to dig is done and over, and I have a whole new set of questions that leaves me reeling.

“Did you get _any_ of that?” He asks. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on my pen, poised over a completely empty notepad. He thinks I’m wasting his time. Instead I do my best to flash him a winning smile (did his heart skip a beat or am I wishfully thinking?) and close my notepad with a shake of my head.

“Everything consistent with what you’ve told us so far, is all.” I know I’m trying too hard but I’m really at a loss. We’ll have to regroup at the house for sure, rethink our retrieval strategy- _shit_. “Thank you so much for your time, Jean. I really appreciate it.” I stand just a little too quickly to be natural, shoving the notepad into the inside pocket of my jacket. I’m following Erwin’s lead out of the corner of my eye- he’s admittedly much better at this than I am. His conversation flows easily, his movements natural as he rises from the dining room table and Jean’s mother begins to walk him to the door. Jean follows her lead and I could almost laugh- we’re both just trying to keep up with the adult in the room.

I walk a few paces behind him as he makes a noise of acknowledgement, leading me to the front door where Erwin has plastered a congenial smile onto his face and is thanking Ms. Kirstein for her time before he does the same to Jean. Jean just nods, his eyes flicking back to me, and I give a close-lipped smile in response.

My mind is reeling for two different reasons, one definitely more important than the other. Firstly, and definitely the important one, that we now have to retrieve a fully manifested _adult,_ which throws the entire plan as we know it out the window. Secondly, said fully manifested adult is a cute boy (who, might I add, also thinks that I’m cute) with _telekinesis_ , who I am going to have to take away from his family and everything that he knows, who I will then likely have to see every day for the foreseeable future.

Yeah, because that’s how you start off on the right foot.

I say nothing more to Jean, his mother, or Colette as we’re seen out the front door. Erwin’s demeanor is cool as he slips into the driver’s seat, clicking his seatbelt into place, and again, I wait for his first move. Where we go from here is beyond me- I couldn’t be gladder that I wasn’t the one truly _leading_ this mission.

Erwin digs his phone out of his pocket as he backs out of the driveway, the car slowly making its way onto the quiet street. There’s a couple more moments of silence, the muffled dial tone before he manages to put it on speaker, and then a click.

“Hello?” Hange’s voice comes through the phone clearly, but they sound tired.

“Pull all the notes you took on Jean Kirstein and his medical records.” Erwin’s voice is crisp in the silent car. I can see the furrow between his brows and the way a frown tugs at his lips. Clearly, he isn’t too pleased by this turn of events either.

“Sir?” Comes after a beat of silence. They’re obviously confused too.

“We’re changing to an A class adult retrieval strategy. Pull his files, brief Mikasa, Eren, and Ymir, and tell everybody else to prepare to leave tonight.” I honestly didn’t know that we _had_ an adult retrieval strategy. Of all the retrievals that had come through our base, I’d never seen anybody older than 13, and we thought _that_ was exceptional.

“… yes, sir.” Hange sounds as disbelieving as I feel, and they hang up quickly. There’s a creeping suspicion that, while I’m shocked, I’m not quite grasping the severity of what we just discovered. Erwin, as always, is a mental wall, and I’m left sitting in the passenger seat, waiting in the heavy silence for direction.

It doesn’t come. The ride back to the house takes about half an hour as we pass the neighborhoods cradled in Seattle’s rolling hills and head into the suburbs. Erwin’s face is drawn tight, his icy gaze fixed straight ahead. I know better than to interrupt his train of thought when he’s like this.

When we pull up to the house, he’s got his seatbelt undone before we’re even past the heavy gate that closes the estate off from the rest of the world. Being part of a highly classified government program has its perks- namely the access to virtually unlimited resources and a government habit of saying yes to every proposed budget item. Some more outlandish things, like purchasing an entire wreck yard so that Sasha has a constant supply of cars to throw and mangle, are really _entirely_ necessary. More mundane things, like the frankly inhuman supply of snacks beyond our rations kept around _also_ primarily for Sasha, really aren’t. I have a creeping suspicion that it has more to do with keeping their resident deadly weapons happy and on their side than it has to do with their enthusiasm for keeping us comfortable.

This house- or estate, rather- is an example of the type of obscene government spending that makes taxpayer balk. One of the many field bases our program has for missions just like this one, the house is larger than any team the size of ours would even know what to do with. Hange had said they were so big in case they ended up having to quarter soldiers there, which makes sense, but in its imposing three stories and sprawling wings, it still _feels_ excessive in every sense. It’s a far cry from the simplicity and sterility of our base, that much I know.

By the time we make it inside and into the dining room that has been serving as our war room since we’ve been here, Hange and Levi have already gathered everybody in preparation. Erwin stops at the head of the table- I keep walking and slide into the only open chair between Mikasa and Connie.

“That can’t have been a fun ride.” Connie mutters under his breath, casting me a side eye. I would laugh if the situation were different, but the look on his face says that he knows he’s right. He huffs an amused breath and turns his eyes back to the front of the room.

 _How did you miss this?_ I keep my face impassive while our commanding officers speak to each other in low tones, but Connie rolls his eyes.

_I see possible outcomes, not the fucking future._

We’ve had this argument before. I still don’t understand the difference between the two, but Connie is very insistent that they’re too different things. He knows better than I do.

 _You didn’t see this outcome?_ It’s a genuine question, not an accusation. He shakes his head and shrugs. One thing people always do- if you give them the option for the most discrete communication possible, they’ll still make it obvious in their face and body language.

_It wasn’t part of the assumption- who the hell manifests at 18?_

He’s right about that- this isn’t even a scenario Hange thought to check for.

A hand comes from behind Mikasa to aggressively rub over Connie’s closely shaved head, and he makes a noise of indignation.

“Looks like you were wrong, Magic Eight Ball.” Eren says in a stage whisper, peering at us from behind Mikasa. She’s paying us absolutely no mind. Connie’s quick to jerk away from Eren’s hand, giving him the most offended look he can muster.

“Come on man you’re gonna ruin my waves- ”

“You started _last night_.”

“It’s the _principle_.”

“As you all know, our original plan is no longer relevant.” Erwin’s voice cuts through our conversation and it immediately falls silent. In half a second, we’re all seated ramrod straight in out seats, attention unwaveringly set on Erwin. “Your new assignment…”

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re fucking doing this.” Ymir grumbles from the passenger seat. She’s got her feet on the dash, long legs stretched out, and her arms crossed over her chest. The light from the streetlight divides her face into shadows and yellow-cast patches of brown skin. “This could’ve been quick and easy, but you want to _talk_ your way through it?”

“I wouldn’t wish getting kidnapped without getting to say goodbye to your family on anyone. It’s not like he really has a choice either way.” Oh _man_ this is already giving me a headache. I know, without a doubt, that this is the right thing to do, but the amount of flack I’m getting for it is unbearable.

“I think you just want the new boy to like you.” Ymir gives me a lecherous look and I resolutely turn my gaze to the house across the street where a sole light is on in one of the upstairs bedrooms. “Oh, you _do_. Is he cute?”

“You don’t even like men.”

“Beside the point. Is he cute?”

“ _Ymir._ ”

“I’ll take that as a yes. He’d better not disappoint.”

Ymir is maybe the only person who gets a pass to tease me like this. One kiss at fourteen years old was more than enough for her to know that kissing boys wasn’t for her, and for me… well, kissing _Ymir_ specifically wasn’t for me.

So what if want him to like me? I don’t like the idea of having a team member holding a grudge against me for kidnapping them from their home in the middle of the night, as he _rightly would_. I balked when Erwin announced that we would be doing an incapacitate-and-deliver style operation. It didn’t sit right with me.

I can still see Connie and Sasha’s horrified faces when I asked if we couldn’t talk to him first. The look Erwin had given me was just different enough from his impassive control that it almost made me shrink back into my seat, but when he asked what my alternative was, I had to straighten up.

Sasha was in absolute disbelief.

“There wouldn’t have been room for argument if anybody else had said anything.” She had told me later in the kitchen. Perched on the marble island, she had watched with raised eyebrows as she cradled a bowl of cereal in her lap. “He’s really serious about priming you for squad leader.”

Yeah, I suppose he is.

That’s how we ended up here. Ymir and I, posted in the car waiting for the go-ahead from Mikasa and Eren, who were scouting out the house; the others, posted around the neighborhood ready to come in for backup or make a fast getaway.

“What if he doesn’t want to come? We just warned him.” Connie had pointed out.

“Then we go on with the original plan.” Armin had added, nodding thoughtfully. “Ymir will blind him and Sasha will carry him out. If that doesn’t work, Eren will just have to knock him out. It’s the _illusion_ of choice that matters.”

I wasn’t actually thinking that far ahead. I had just thought that kidnapping somebody from their home in the middle of the night seemed… _wrong_. I understand what Armin is saying though. The illusion of diplomacy and considering his choice could do wonders for his cooperation in the future and how willing he is to work with us.

The big unknown that we’re all dancing around though, is exactly how powerful he is. Considering he threw a truck off the side of a mountain- I think _very_ is a good guess. Except, we’re out of time. All of Hange’s investigation in the days prior mean nothing because they were looking at the wrong person.

The reality is, we’re going in blind. No context, no preparation, no idea how strong he is, but Levi had said it and it shut us all up.

“We’re not the only ones who are looking for who caused that accident. We can’t wait any more.”

He was, undeniably, right. Some fates are worse than getting snatched out of your home by the US government. We’ve never been told explicitly who _they_ are. As far as we know, it could just be a made-up enemy they invented in order to scare us into loyalty. Except, I’ve seen the bodies hauled back to base. I’ve seen the blood, seen the haunted look on someone’s face after coming back from a long-term assignment. I don’t think that you can make that up.

I get the feeling that whoever else is out there isn’t exactly looking out for our best interests. With a power like telekinesis… this seems like the best option.

At least I hope it is.

Looking down, I pick at the fabric of my pants, chewing the inside of my lip. I _feel_ bad. I don’t want to be the one to take Jean away from his home, to tear the rug from under his feet when he’s probably looking forward to a whole _life_ he won’t be able to get.

The benefit to being picked up as a kid is that you hardly know what the alternatives are, so it doesn’t hurt. Sure, in another world I could have gone to college and lived my life, but I’ve known that that wasn’t my future since before I even started to think about what my future would look like. Jean? Jean is eighteen, a year younger than me. A senior in high school, Hange had said. He has a life to look forward to, and he doesn’t even know that it’s been completely washed away.

That’s the problem about the whole empath, telepath thing. I know too much about too many people to just be indifferent. When he comes back to base with us, I’m going to be able to feel the frustration, the loneliness, the anger, the _loss,_ for who knows how long before he adjusts.

 _God_ , this sucks.

Ymir and I sit in silence as I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for the all clear that comes in the form of Eren Jaeger’s mental yelling. We’ve got a job to do, but I don’t have to like it. On the other hand, Ymir is colored with little more than indifference and a desire to return to base. I take the time to run through what I’m going to say as we hurry across the street and around the side of the house where Eren and Mikasa are waiting, standing beneath a lit-up window.

Beyond it is the idle brain chatter of mere existence. Fragmented bits and pieces from the day, a rapid cycle of different feelings, moving too quickly to really dwell on.

Well, here goes nothing.

_Hi Jean. I need you to come to your window, and I need you to not freak out._

The brain chatter stops. It’s replaced with a confusion and a sort of paranoid focus that I know I should expect, but it still puts me on edge. We need him calm, and we need him open to conversation. He’s on the verge of dismissing me, waving it off as some intrusive thought, when I try again.

 _Yes, hi. I know this is weird, but I_ really _need you to come to your window._

He’s too curious to back out now. Mikasa tenses next to me, and I’m willing to guess she can hear his wary footsteps. Every muscle in her body is coiled tight. Subtly, I can feel the charge in the air as the hairs rise on the back of my neck, the slowly rising smell of ozone as Eren readies himself in case things _really_ go sideways. Even in the darkness, I can see the intensity in his green eyes, always so bright in contrast to his dark skin and somehow even brighter in the darkness.

A shadow appears in the light of the window and I look up, casting the disbelieving face in the window what I hope is a disarming smile.

_We know what you can do, Jean. We just want to talk._

Amber eyes under a midnight moon. Disbelief, confusion, as he puts together the image before him. My smile is carefully disarming, his figure unmoving in the windowsill for several long moments.

He disappears.

_He’s going downstairs._

The four of us move to the front of the house in silence, piling onto the front porch in tense anticipation. The air is charged in both the literal and figurative sense as we wait.

The door knob jiggles. Jean Kirstein steps onto the moonlit porch, every inch of his being screaming fear and distrust, but accompanied by a steadfast resolve. His eyes don’t leave mine, scrutinizing, laser focused, and I swallow.

“You’re like me?” His voice is low and his eyes flick around the neighborhood. He knows implicitly that this is dangerous, that this is fundamentally wrong in more ways than any of us are capable of counting. No wonder he managed to stay under the radar for so long.

_Yeah. We’re like you. You need to come with us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I introduce to you: Erwin Smith, some fun little background, and to my pleasure, an indigenous Eren Jaeger, a biracial Connie Springer, and Latinx Marco and Ymir. I'm putting it out there now because it's important to me that you all know this.
> 
> Thanks for bearing with this slow start. This is the chapter length I'll be shooting for from here on out I think, so let me know your thoughts on that.
> 
> So, this time next week?


	3. Up in Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the structure I mentioned last week today! For a snippet containing some Marco and Mikasa interaction, look out for the hyperlink (If you CTRL +F "wouldn't dream of it" you'll find it) and you can read it at that spot or read it after you finish the chapter!

“He wouldn’t be bad if it weren’t for his… face.” I’m pretty sure it’s the tall girl walking behind me who says it, trying to keep her voice low as we make our way across the empty street. The boy who’s got me by my arm, definitely to make sure I don’t run, snickers, his lips tugged up into an amused smile. His eyes are an electrifying green in the dark, and the look he gives me just _doesn’t_ sit right with me. I want to wipe the smirk off his face.

I’m fairly certain they’re talking about the very unflattering bruising I’ve got going on. It’s good form to pick on a car accident victim apparently.

 _Quiet guys. Come on._ Immediately, they shut up. This is incredibly bizarre- almost as bizarre as accidentally throwing a semitruck over a cliff, but apparently that’s how life goes. One weird thing after another. Excellent.

I _knew_ something was off about that visit earlier. No badges, no notes, just two short, separate conversations about something that I _know_ exists in writing in at least five different forms by now. I cast a look over my shoulder to the two taking up rear, and make eye contact with Marco. He offers me a comforting smile, but I’m quick to look away.

“This is my colleague, Marco _._ ” The other man had said. Colleague my _ass._ He couldn’t have been older than twenty, and he had stood there on the porch with his freckles and sweet smile and the stupid lavender button up that clung to his broad shoulders-

So maybe I was appreciating what was in front of me. Sue me. He had been sweet too, in the brief interaction that we had. I kept getting distracted by his freckles and the searching look he had given me while I spoke. He was cute, _really_ cute, but I figured that it would be my first and last interaction with him. I didn’t exactly expect for dream boy to show up at my window at midnight and reveal himself to be a fucking _mind reader._

 _Sorry about that._ I jolt a bit at the voice that joins my conscience, very obviously not mine. _It takes a bit of getting used to._

_Can you get out of my head?_

_You’re being really loud so… probably not. Sorry._ At least he has the decency to sound sheepish, so I don’t question it. That’s really the least of my worries, but _damn_ I’m wondering if this is the smart thing to do. Really though, what are my options? I knew I was outmatched the moment I came to the window.

In spite of the casual civilian clothing, something in the way they move screams planning and training. Ahead of me, I see it in the measured steps of the Asian girl leading us across the empty road, head tilting minutely with each passing second, like she’s surveying the surrounding area. I feel it in the formation that the four of them hold around me in case I try to run. I see it in the way they yield under Marco’s gentle, yet firm instruction.

I have no idea what I just got myself into.

Except, I kind of do. We’re like you, Marco had said (thought? I don’t know). The moment the other one had grabbed my arm and every hair on my body stood on end, I knew he wasn’t joking. So here I am, outmatched, no longer the only freak in the room being herded into the middle seat of an SUV at midnight on a Thursday by a group of other said freaks.

“You can let him go now, Eren.” Marco says from the driver’s seat, eyes flashing to us in the rearview mirror. Eren, with his green eyes and pulled back hair and frankly _uncomfortably_ high body temperature, releases the grip he has on my bicep and leans against the door. It offers some reprieve from his scorching heat.

“Where’s somewhere you want to be?” Asks the girl sitting to my other side. I raise an eyebrow and give her a look.

“Excuse me?”

“Where’s somewhere you want to be? I’m trying to be nice here for _Marco’s_ sake- ”

“ _Ymir_.”

“Can you answer the question before freckles up there has an aneurysm?” I can hardly see his face, between the darkness and the fact that he’s resolutely facing forward, but I can see, in the sliver of skin illuminated by the moonlight, the blush rising on his cheeks. Apparently, I don’t respond fast enough for her liking, and she ( _Ymir_ , my mind offers helpfully) shakes her head and clicks her tongue in disdain. “Time’s up. Sorry about this.”

I’m blind. I can feel Ymir pressed against one of my shoulders and Eren’s presence on my other side, I can hear the car’s engine and feel its vibrations as we roll down the street, but I can’t _see_ anything.

“What the _fuck-_ ”

“It’s just until we get back to base.” Ymir’s voice comes from where I logically know she’s sitting next to me. “We can’t really have you seeing everything until you meet the big boss. Not our call to make, not even _Marco’s_.” Except I’m fucking _blind_ when I wasn’t ten seconds ago. However prepared I thought I was for however this was going to go down, I obviously wasn’t.

“Why do I need to be blind to get to wherever you’re taking me?” I hiss, head turning in her general direction. She snorts.

“Protocol, wise-guy. If you can’t tell, we’re not exactly the ones in charge.” I’ve got more to work with than I did in the beginning. Fucking _great_. The car is dead silent around me, save for the sound of the car engine humming in the quiet night.

Colette had been asking about when people would leave us alone at dinner, that _look_ on her face that I know she learned from me as she pushed the peas around on her plate.

“They’re just doing their jobs.” Mom had said, casting me a side-eyed look.

“They’ve done their jobs like _a million times_.” Colette whined. I couldn’t help my snort of laughter that Mom just shook her head to. The house had been tense since the accident, courtesy of my Mom’s need to dote and the unrelenting amount of work she had to do coming into conflict. We hadn’t been back to school yet- and I wasn’t mad, taking a week off after the shit show that we just endured was the obvious option. I had been laying around the house, doing nothing, and being comfortable before we had to go back the next week.

Of course, I had come to regret that when Marco and the other guy had showed up. I wasn’t exactly enthused about looking a mess while they looked like _that_. I never looked good when it was important. Except, they had come and gone, and while it was weird, I hadn’t given it much more thought. Definitely did not anticipate being kidnapped later.

I read something once, about how a lot of serial killers are charming and good looking like that. It doesn’t quite fit this situation, but it’s close enough.

In the front seat, I hear Marco give a burst of laughter not exactly suited for the situation. Mind reader. Right.

_I’m not a serial killer._

_Get out of my head._

He goes quiet.

My thoughts return to the day’s events as I try and figure out what I did to deserve this cosmic fuck-over, and it _had_ been pretty normal. Watched TV, slept (everything still ached nearly five days later), and messed around with the same small objects I had been for months.

 _This_ was exactly why I had never taken on anything bigger than what I was sure I could do in the confines of my own room behind a locked door. Eight months under the radar and keeping the secret, pushing around pencils and chairs, and throwing a semi-truck over a cliff is what does me in. Guess that escalated quickly.

I didn’t ask for this- some people would have embraced the whole telekinesis thing, but I wanted nothing more than to graduate, go to school, and live the life I was supposed to. Except, if the current situation is telling me anything, that plan is up in smoke.

I noisily exhale and slouch back into my seat, my fingers thrumming against my thigh. I wonder if I should have tried to stand my ground- at least then I would have known what I was dealing with.

“You made the right choice, coming with us,” Marco says from the front seat. “I wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of having to carry you to the car if you didn’t.”

“So you were just going to _kidnap_ me if I didn’t come?”

“Either you could get kidnapped by the government or by someone a lot less interested in the safety of your family. Your pick,” Eren says from my right. Everything in my body stiffens- the thought of _other_ interested parties hadn’t struck me.

I feel the car slow to a stop eventually, and my sight returns to me in the form of a moonlit car interior, everybody around me unbuckling their seatbelts. Eren pulls me from the car with a rough grip and I jerk away as soon as my feet touch the concrete of the driveway.

“ _Watch it_.” I spit. Our eyes lock in the moment, and I’m assaulted by the smell of electricity, the hairs on my neck rising. It’s stopped when a presence joins me at my back and a hand falls to my shoulder.

“Leave it alone Eren.” The other girl says from where she’s climbed out of the passenger seat. She seems to look right past us as she kicks the door shut and makes her way around the front of the SUV towards the front door of the sprawling house we’ve found ourselves in front of. Eren casts me another look full of… I don’t know what. Distrust? Disdain? Something distasteful as he makes his way after the other girl whose name I still don’t know.

“Eren can be hot-headed. You get used to it.” Marco says from behind me, his hand moving from my shoulder. I huff and turn my head to look at him, his soft, apologetic smile. I don’t know what sort of Stockholm syndrome I’m experiencing but damn is it beating my ass. Whoever sent them was smart to send Marco to do the talking- it’s hard to be mad at _him_ specifically when he looks so damn apologetic about the whole thing. I never thought a kidnapper would apologize so many times.

We make our way towards the house, Marco and Ymir taking up rear yet again as they corral me through the front door. The other girl whose name I still don’t have hasn’t so much as looked at me and Eren seems to have disappeared. I don’t have much time to dwell on it as I’m escorted into what looks like a dining room and am brought face to face with who I assume is in charge.

It’s the same blond man who had come to the house with Marco this morning. I’m somehow not surprised.

“Jean. Please sit.” It’s not just him though. To his right, a severe looking man with black hair looks distinctly unhappy to be here. To his left-

“Dr. Zoe?” Oh man what the _fuck_. They offer a quirk of their lips and a wave.

“Hi Jean. I think you should take a seat,” they say. I think that might be a good idea, so I do, easing into a chair at the far end of the table. The room is well lit- beyond the doorway on the other side I can see lights on in what I assume is the kitchen and a low murmur of voices stems from the room. There’s more of them. However outmatched I was at first, I’m definitely outmatched now. My hands curl into fists in my lap underneath the table, fingers flexing as I try to steady myself.

“Why am I here?” I manage to ask, but I know the answer. I’m here because I have something they want.

“I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep it a secret for this long. Eight months is an impressive amount of time to go unnoticed with a talent like yours.” The blond man laces his fingers together in front of him on the table and fixes me with a piercing blue gaze. “Going from TV remotes to semi-trucks is quite the leap.” A lump forms in my throat, and I’m acutely aware of Marco’s presence, still behind me. Right. There really are no secrets here.

“What’s it to you?” This defensiveness is instinctive but I know that it won’t do me any favors.

“It means that we’re eight months late on securing one of the deadliest weapons we’ve come across so far. You’re lucky we found you first.” His gaze doesn’t waver as he speaks, but he does lean back in his seat. I don’t like the way he’s talking- referring to me as a _weapon_ isn’t exactly the way to my heart. “You might remember, my name is Erwin Smith. To my right, Levi Ackerman, to my left, as you already know, Dr. Hange Zoe. Behind you, Marco Bott and Mikasa Ackerman. In the other room, four other people with almost a decade of training in their respective abilities.” He’s laying all his cards out on the table on purpose- like it wasn’t already obvious to me that I couldn’t run or fight my way out even if I was dumb enough to try.

“I’m not going to run if that’s what you’re implying. I’m not stupid.” My fingers tighten in my lap as Erwin hums, shifting his weight in his chair.

“No, you aren’t. That’s why you came with Marco. You understand the implications of what you’ve done Jean, _that_ is why you’re here. Your commitment to your family over your self-interest is telling.” He’s right and he knows it, though I’m not sure if it’s because of Marco’s freaky thought thing or if it’s because he’s managed to play me _that_ well. “If you agree to go quietly, we’ll let you return home to pack your belongings and say goodbye in the morning.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then I’m afraid saying goodbye is out of the question.” I knew the answer to that, but it’s still frustrating to know that I’m backed into a corner. The lesser of two evils.

“What the hell am I agreeing to then?”

“Protecting your family and cultivating your talents.” Hange adds, peering at me over their thick glasses. “A lot of people will do a lot of things for someone like you, Jean.”

“Like kidnapping someone in the middle of the night?”  
“You _agreed_ to come here. If you didn’t expect this to happen, maybe we gave you too much credit.” Levi’s slate gray eyes fix me to my seat with barely concealed annoyance. “There is no option here. Either we kidnap you first and your family stays alive, or someone _else_ kidnaps you and _then_ slaughters your family to tie up their loose ends. You should be thanking us.”

“What Levi is trying to say is we’re doing this to keep you and your family safe.” Hange’s voice is much kinder as they clarify, but it doesn’t placate me. I’m almost even more pissed off.

“Like there isn’t anything in it for you?” I snap.

“What’s in it for us is making sure that you don’t fall into the wrong hands.” Levi seems to have said his piece, and Hange carries the conversation trying to soothe the way I bristle in my seat. “You have to understand that you are, very fundamentally, a threat to public safety. You can’t just be left unsupervised- ”

“I’ve been _fine_ until now.”

“Fine until you threw a semi-truck and a car over a cliff and killed three civilians.” Levi responds. My heart jumps and I swallow the bile that rises in my throat.

“We _all_ would have died if I hadn’t!”

“No- _you_ would have died. The truck driver likely would have been fine. You want to live Jean, and it doesn’t matter if it comes at the expense of others. You think too highly of yourself.” Levi’s words are cutting, and I want to deny them but he isn’t _wrong_. My hesitation tells him all that he needs to know apparently, and he seems to settle back into his seat, content with his additions.

“We’re not pretending we don’t have some use for you, Jean. You’ve met some of the ways that we utilize abilities already.” Erwin’s eyes flick to Marco and Mikasa, still stationed behind me, so silent I could have forgotten they were there. “That’s all to say, the benefit is mutual. Your family stays safe, _you_ can put your powers to good use, and we can keep an eye on public threats.”

“ _Fuck-_ ”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” And I don’t. Because I physically _can’t_. Erwin’s voice settles over every inch of my body, and I am stuck. Completely and utterly powerless in a way I’ve never felt before because despite how much I want to spit _fuck you_ I _can’t_. “I didn’t want to have to do that. It’s not often that I have to at all.” He exhales out of his nose, his measured gaze unfaltering. “Contrary to what you probably believe, Jean, I’m not in the habit of making people do things against their will. That would be a personal failure on my behalf.”

“Fuck’s sake, can you stop saying my name?” I still have my words. Even though it’s obvious that the struggle against saying _fuck you_ has been lost, there are plenty of others I have at my disposal. Everything in my body is drawn tight. I feel the way that my nails dig into my palm, sharp and stinging, the heat in my face, and despite my anger, the tears welling in my eyes.

If Erwin has shown me anything in the past ten minutes, it’s that I have absolutely no choice in the matter. All the cajoling and explaining and convincing, but at the end of the day _I_ have to go with _them_ whether I cooperate or not.

 _He’s not lying- he doesn’t do that often. It’s not bad, I promise._ There he goes, in my head again. The sudden realization of the hopelessness of my situation has drained me- the knowledge that if Erwin Smith decides I can’t cuss him out, I simply _can’t_ weighing heavy on me. I’m exhausted- the clock visible to me through the doorway to the kitchen says 2:27. I _would_ usually be up at this time anyways, but after today’s events and the crushing realization that I’m expected to just up and leave everything I’ve ever known behind at the drop of a hat... I want to _sleep_.

 _I’m holding you to that._ For all the kidnapping and lying he’s done, Marco has at least seemed apologetic. I am in desperate need of an ally.

 _You’re sure it’s not because I’m cute?_ I want so badly to roll my eyes, but I’m acutely aware of the fact that there are more pressing matters at hand. In the time I’ve been silent, Erwin has said nothing. Just waited. Erwin Smith is a man who knows when he has won.

“I want to be able to grab my things and say goodbye.” I snap.

“I said that you would be able to, I intend to keep my word. Marco, who’s keeping watch on the house?” Just like that, I’m no longer his focus. Something ticked off of the to-do list.

“Sasha and Connie, sir.” Marco’s voice is steady behind me. Levi scoffs and raises an eyebrow.

“Was that a good idea?”

“I fully believe that they’re capable of keeping watch until morning.” While his voice is even and certain, there’s a defensive edge to his tone. I don’t have the energy to read into it.

“Get him a place to sleep, Marco. You’re on watch tonight.”

“Sir.”

I stand, defeated, and too tired to resist when Marco’s hand settles on my shoulder and guides me from the room, measured steps sounding in the quiet space. We go through the kitchen that stretches into a living room, and in the couple of seconds it takes for us to pass through the, I catch sight of who I assume are the four people whose very threat is meant to keep me here.

A blond girl, tiny, pretty in all respects, seated on the counter, and Ymir, standing between her legs, arms caging her in. Ymir shoots a leer our way but I’m too tired to snap back or read too far into it. Eren, sprawled across the couch a few paces away, eyes closed, hair tied up in a messy bun, who doesn’t look nearly as much of an asshole as when he’s awake. At the other end of the couch, tucked neatly against the arm, a blond boy who looks at me with curious blue eyes, a near finished book settled in his lap.

Marco leads me out the other door before any of them (or I) have the chance to say anything. He leads me down a long hallway before stopping in front of a plain door.

“You’ll be sleeping here. I’ll wake you up around eight before we go and pack your things.” Marco says. I can’t help but appreciate the fact that he’s _speaking_ , and not digging around in my head. Something about it makes me feel even more vulnerable, even less in control.

“And you’ll be keeping watch to make sure I don’t run?” The bitterness that drips from my voice is unintentional, but a show of transparency as I pull away and turn to look at him.

“ _We_ will be keeping watch to make sure you don’t run.” I jump, startled at the sudden presence of the Asian girl, Erwin had referred to her as Mikasa, who apparently had been following us so silently I hadn’t heard her. Her gaze, still oddly vacant, is fixed not on me, but just past my head. She’s beautiful- glossy black hair that falls to her shoulders, cupid bow lips and pale, unmarked skin. Apparently something about having superpowers makes you good looking.

“You can’t exactly keep _watch_ Mikasa.” Marco’s voice is teasing, and I see the slightest curl of her lips on her otherwise impassive face. Her gaze doesn’t shift.

“I do a better job _blind_ than you do fully awake. You’re not fully awake.” Mikasa pauses, waiting for Marco’s response, but when it doesn’t come, she speaks again. “ _We_ will be making sure you don’t run.” She reiterates. There’s an underlying threat to her words, a warning and a promise all at once, and my shoulders tighten.

“[Wouldn’t dream of it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405355/chapters/72239997#workskin).” I mutter under my breath. I don’t bid either of them goodnight as I push through the door, the sound of it closing behind me gravely final. I close my eyes, standing in the darkness, sick to my stomach, knowing that whatever life I thought I would have, has come to an end.

My sleep is restless and filled with dreams that I can’t remember. I’m awoken by the gentle rapping of knuckles on the door.

“We’re leaving in an hour. You can come and get breakfast, if you want.” The voice is unfamiliar to me, sweet like Marco’s, but softer, definitely a girl’s. I’m too sleepy to respond, and when the door cracks open a blond head of hair pops into the room. It’s the girl who was seated on the counter yesterday, peering at me with kind blue eyes. She almost looks apologetic.

“Um- thanks.” I croak, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. I feel like shit.

“I left an extra toothbrush in the bathroom for you, if you want. It’s two doors down on the right.” She lingers in the doorway, watching curiously as I stretch and run a hand through what I already know to be unruly bedhead. As I stand, she gives me a smile that I think is meant to be reassuring, but it’s slightly shy. She’s cute.

“Historia! Eggs!” She jolts at what I assume is her name, and casting me one last look with a small wave, she darts away towards what I assume is the kitchen. I’m not awake enough to think critically as I meander towards the bathroom where sure enough, a toothbrush is waiting. I manage a weak half smile as I go through the morning motions of making myself a human being.

When I enter the kitchen, I’m thrown. I’m not sure what I expected- something more structured, like the way I had been kidnapped with _military_ precision, not the haphazard jumble I stumble in on. Despite all of the space of the connected kitchen and living room, everybody in the room is crammed around the kitchen island, their voices mixing in an even, comfortable chatter as their bodies squeeze together, playfully jostling in what I can only describe as comfortable routine. Plates of food are visible to me between their shifting bodies.

There are more people here than last night, I note. Standing apart from the rest, a girl with auburn hair I’m sure I haven’t seen before stands over the stove, sliding a pancake onto an already impressive stack. Another person with black durag tied over his head, is someone else I haven’t seen before, his lips curled up into a goofy smile as I watch him throw an elbow into Marco’s ribs where he stands next to him. It all looks so _normal_ , like they hadn’t just whisked me from my home in the middle of the night and turned my world upside down.

“So, this is the new guy?” The room falls silent. The girl who had been standing by the stove is looking at me curiously, holding her plate of pancakes with one hand and pouring syrup over them with the other. There’s a beat of silence. “He’s so _skinny_.”

I splutter, surprise giving way to indignation. She’s got some real _fucking_ balls.

“ _Sasha_.” Marco looks as appalled as I feel, and I’m grateful that at least somebody is on my side.

“Here man, you can have your plate _and_ the rest of mine. You’re going to want a head start to Hange’s weight gain regiment.” The one with a durag says, looking me up and down and shaking his head, his grin unfaltering.

“ _Connie!_ ” I can feel the color rising to my face, indignant in the face of these strangers and the unwanted attention and the flurry of feelings.

“ _Fuck_ you man.” I spit. It comes before I can think better of it, but I don’t regret it. I’m awake enough now to be pissed in full force, everything that the shock of last night had muted rising to the surface.

“Hey now, no need to get your panties in a twist.” Ymir says. She’s leaning her hip against the island, not bothering to conceal the distrust and wariness in her face and body language. The lighthearted air in the kitchen has disappeared, replaced by tense silence, all eyes on me. I bristle, grinding my teeth, fingers flexing into tight fists.

“Jean.” Marco’s voice is calm and measured, and he steps away from the group to move cautiously towards me. “I need you to calm down.” There’s an unfamiliar feeling inching up the back of my neck, but I ignore it. I bristle even more at his words.

“Don’t _fucking_ tell me to calm down!” Something snaps. Behind them, the window over the sink shatters with a piercing sound. A moment of stunned silence settles in the room.

Too many things happen at once.

Mikasa, who’s across the room and has me on my knees faster than any human should be able to.

The blindness that comes swiftly, blanketing my vision in black.

The way my entire body convulses with the grip sudden on my biceps, struck with an unexpected pulse of electricity that knocks the breath from my lungs

Somebody in the background is swearing in a creative, unbroken chain.

I black out.

When I wake up, I’m not sure how much time has passed or where I am, but my body feels _heavy_. My head is filled with fog, thoughts hazy and soft around the edges, and when I try to move, I’m greeted with a rattling sound. It shocks me into some form of clarity, enough to start putting the pieces together.

These fuckers chained me to a bed. I jerk my arm, testing, but it moves a grand total of a couple inches before the chain is taught and my arm is straining.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The voice that comes from next to my head is flat and sounds distinctly unimpressed. Levi.

I’m blind again, I realize. Darkness blankets my vision even though my eyes are wide open, and I thrash a bit, trying to get a sense for who else is in the room. Ymir, if my lack of vision has anything to say about it.

“Why am I chained down?” I demand- or try to, at least. My tongue is heavy and my speech comes out slurred. I thought shit like this only happened in movies.

“Because you’re a threat.” Comes Levi’s curt response.

“I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“Throwing a tantrum and blowing out a window doesn’t count as not doing anything.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Even worse. You’re volatile. This seems to be a pattern.” I’m increasingly pissed off, but there’s something else growing in my gut. Defeat. Complete, utter defeat, at the realization that I’m outgunned in every respect of the word.

It hadn’t really settled in last night, it had just started to when I lashed out, but now it’s slammed into me with the force of all of my lost futures. I am here, wherever _here_ is, chained to the bed like a fucking animal. My stomach churns as I settle against the mattress, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.

 _Go with it. Please, just go with it. It’ll be easier._ The pleading voice in my head starts. I clear my throat- Marco is obviously here too, but whatever softness or forgiveness I had been feeling has dissipated. Something doesn’t sit right with me about the way he’s been here _every step of the way_. He can’t be any better than Erwin or Levi- not with the way he dug around in my head for information, not in the way he seems to be the designated leader of their little gang, not in the way he tries to sweet talk me into compliance.

 _I’m following orders, Jean. I don’t_ enjoy _doing this._ He sounds tired. Exhausted, really. I remember he had been told to stand guard last night.

 _You didn’t_ have _to do this._ My defeat is seeping into my tone, and I hate it. I _hate_ it with every fiber of my being

 _I didn’t have to in the same way that you didn’t have to. Can you just… calm down? Please?_ His tone is pleading, and it’s accompanied by the same feeling I had felt creeping up the back of my neck earlier. I feel it, calm like a rising tide battering against a wall of my anger and frustration despite everything in me. I don’t know what he’s doing, or how he’s doing it, but I know enough to realize that despite his sweet appearance, Marco is very, _very_ dangerous.

 _Only if we’re enemies. I don’t want to be._ He insists. The tide is rising, and I realize no matter how hard I fight it, it will eventually overtake the mass of my feelings like a flood. He’s bearing down on me. This new wave of defeat induced exhaustion forces me to acquiesce.

“If I let you see, you’re not going to break all our necks, are you?” Ymir’s voice is muffled and distant in a way that I can’t place, but I nod, hoping she can see me and not trusting myself to speak. My eyes sting with frustrated tears that I’m fighting to keep at bay, and when light floods my vision, I blink rapidly in an effort to force them away.

It’s like waking up in the hospital again: too bright lights and a raging headache, except this time I’m chained to the bed. There are no windows here, just the bright fluorescent overhead lighting, and when I look around, I realize the room is completely bare save for the mirror that spans the wall at the foot of my bed. I assume, like in all the cop shows, that it only goes one way. What a fucking upgrade.

This, I realize, is an observation room, stripped bare to protect them from… me. My mouth runs dry and I swallow thickly, turning my gaze up to the ceiling. Levi’s presence lingers next to my head but he doesn’t bother entering my field of vision.

“Personally, I think Eren did the right thing.” He says evenly. His footsteps are muffled against the floor as he paces a couple of steps away from me. “ _Other_ people think that it was uncalled for- which is why you’re getting a second chance. I’m going to give you one last opportunity to do the smart thing and comply.” At least Levi isn’t trying to sugar coat it. There’s no coaxing, no promises of not-that-bad or trying to manipulate me into thinking that I have a choice. His brutal honesty, among the mess of the past week, is refreshing.

I take a steady inhale and close my eyes against the blinding fluorescent lights.

“Fine.” I finally rasp. This is what it’s like to be a caged animal- no escape, desperately and uselessly thrashing even after it’s signed and sealed. I guess that this part is the acceptance part. “Can I say goodbye?”

“You forfeit that opportunity when you attacked our team.” It feels like a kick to the gut, and even with my eyes closed, my brows knit together in a deep frown. “If you do well in training and you behave, Erwin might grant you visitation. Don’t count on it.” There’s a beat of silence as he waits for my response. When it doesn’t come, he lets out an irate sigh and paces further away. “I’ll send Historia to take care of your burns.” There’s the sound of an opening door before it swings shut behind him with a final click.

Just like that, I had fucked up whatever chance I had of getting to say goodbye to Colette and my mom. What makes it worse is that I hadn’t _meant_ to shatter that window- I had never done anything like that before- and it dawns on me that maybe, Levi is right. Maybe I am volatile. _Maybe_ I am dangerous to the public.

The door opens again much sooner than I expect it to, making me open my eyes. Not more than five minutes could have passed when the same blond girl who had come into my room that morning walks in, precariously carrying a large bin full of what I assume to be medical supplies. Right behind her, Dr. Zoe (Hange?) follows with a pleasant look on their face.

“Be glad that Eren’s been practicing. It would have been a shame if he accidentally killed you.” Hange says brightly, as they make their way over to my bed. I frown, unsure of what she’s talking about until they reach for one of my arms to inspect it.

When I look down, I almost gag. In the shape of a hand print, my skin is _burned_ , red, angry and glistening under the bright light and I suck air through my teeth at the sight. No wonder I felt so foggy- it _had_ to have been painkillers because I sure as hell know that I would be _feeling_ that if it weren’t.

“He can be overzealous sometimes. He’s really sweet though.” Historia offers me an attempt at a comforting smile as she comes to the other side of the bed, the one where Hange isn’t inspecting my frankly grotesque looking arm. In any of my interactions with Eren, sweet isn’t a word I would use to describe him. Historia sets her large bin down on the chair next to her, and in it aren’t medical supplies, but _plants_. There doesn’t even seem to be a particular _kind_ of plant, just _plants_ that look like they’ve been torn up from outside, dirt still packed between their roots, bright green leaves full and glossy. “Hange?”

“Yes, yes, go ahead.” Hange drops my arm rather unceremoniously from where they had held it and swabbed the wound, apparently taking samples. Great to know that I was stuck being a science experiment too.

Historia reaches into the bin and plucks a plant from it seemingly at random- and in seconds I watch it wilt, shrivel and die before she sets it kindly back into the bin.

“This is going to tingle. Just bear with it, okay?” Without waiting for my response, she fixes her hands over the burned handprint on my arm. It doesn’t tingle- it fucking _burns_. I hiss through my teeth at the warmth, then blatant heat, that floods over my skin and my fingers flex uncomfortably as I do my best to stay still. It takes all of a minute. When she moves her hands, I’m greeted by the sight of unblemished skin- not even a scar in sight.

The shock on my face is clear if the way Historia smiles is any indication. Wordlessly, she and Hange swap sides and the process repeats.

With each person I meet, it becomes more and more clear that I am in over my head more than I could possibly fathom. I’m not sure what it is that I just witnessed, but in the past forty-eight hours I have become acutely aware that nobody, no matter how harmless they look, is actually harmless.

Hange finishes scraping my skin with a pleased hum and straightens, clearly pleased with themselves.

“We’ll get someone in here to get you to where you’ll be staying in a minute. Try not to break anything until then. Historia.” In a shuffle of movement, Historia picks up her bin full of dead plants and Hange gathers their materials and they leave. Historia shoots me a kind smile as the door shuts behind them.

It seems that I’ve lost my voice. To be honest, I’m not exactly interested in speaking with any of the people here. At least not right now. I settle into the bed, hyperaware of the chains on my wrists and the newly healed skin of my biceps and the way my eyes prick with tears and my heart races in my chest and the way I didn’t get to say goodbye.

Whatever this is, I don’t know what I did to deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa is blind (-ish?), you've got a look at the rest of the crew and their powers (save for Armin) and Jean is a very unhappy camper. Super dialogue-y, not the best pacing, but needed to get it out of the way for the plot. Hopefully we'll hit the ground running with some action next week. Thank you all for reading, please leave comments and kudos if so inclined <3


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